e table, his arms laid across it, his head resting
on his arms, and in a position that displays a profile view of the
body. The Goddess of Poetry should be a young lady of good height,
figure, and features, and costumed in a flowing white dress, cut low
at the neck, with short sleeves trimmed with white satin ribbon; a
wide muslin mantle should be worn across the shoulders; a wreath of
myrtle adorns the head. In her right hand she holds a golden harp; the
left is placed on the shoulder of the Poet. Her position is behind the
table, in the background of the picture, and facing the audience. Her
head is slightly bent forward, and eyes directed to the face of the
youth; her countenance expresses pleasure. The following machinery can
be used, if desired, which will add very much to the beauty of the
piece. In place of the Goddess being at the side of the Poet when the
curtain rises, a sliding platform can be made to move on to the stage
from the ante-room, on which the Goddess should stand. A stout post
firmly fixed in one side will enable the lady to stand perfectly still
while the platform moves to its position. All that is necessary in the
construction of this part of the work is to make a set of ways, and a
sliding platform that will run with ease from one side of the stage to
the other. A rope attached to the platform, and fastened to a crank
below the stage, will propel the Goddess to her position. The ways and
platform can be hidden from view by a strip of board, painted to
imitate the floor of the room. A small quantity of the whitish-blue
fire may be burned near the spot where the Goddess appears. The light
should be very dim, and come from the side of the stage opposite the
Poet. Music soft and plaintive.

DEATH OF EDITH.

O'er her low couch an Indian matron hung,
While in grave silence, yet with earnest eye,
The ancient warrior of the waste stood by,
Bending in watchfulness his proud gray head,
And leaning on his bow.

Solemnly beautiful, a stillness deep,
Fell on her settled face. Then, sad and slow,
And mantling up his stately head in awe,
"Thou'rt passing hence," he sang, that warrior old,
In sounds like those by plaintive waters rolled.

"Thou'rt passing from the lake's green side,
And the hunter's heath away;
For the time of flowers, for the summer's pride,
Daughter, thou canst not stay.

"Thou'rt journeying to thy